


M.Sc. and Ph.D.

by notyourparadigm



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bleeding Effect, Dubious Consent, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Hand Jobs, M/M, Rage Fuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-02-29 05:39:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18772315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notyourparadigm/pseuds/notyourparadigm
Summary: Desmond Miles has only recently begun his work as a Master's Student under Dr. Warren Vidic at Abstergo University. Things would be going a lot better if Daniel Cross, long-time student and Ph.D. Candidate, could be bothered to act nicely at all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vindart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vindart/gifts).



> Done for a prompt of "School Days" and since I'm a grad student you know, write what you know. Dunno if I'm happy with it but here it is. Also Vin helped me a lot getting this much done and with the Russian and encouraged me with lots of big D, thank you Vin!!

Daniel Cross made it immediately clear that he was not interested in being Desmond’s friend.

He did not know how long he had been researching under Dr. Warren Vidic. Normally, that was a question that would be brought up and answered in the first two or three conversations with a fellow graduate student. Instead, everything he knew about Daniel was from others — he had been working towards his PhD for years, apparently, yet would push back completion another term again and again, claiming dissatisfaction with his research.

Desmond did not even know what he was researching — of course it was something to do with genetic memories, as was the focus or Dr. Vidic’s research group — but he never so much as breathed a word of his experiments or progress to anyone outside of Vidic himself. Several times, Desmond tried to sneak a glance at his notes, both in his lab book and on his computer, only to find them all written in Cyrillic.

It would not have bothered Desmond as much if he did not have to share an office with him.

Technically, there were four students to each office, but Clay Kaczmarek finished his studies the term Desmond started his Master's program, and Melanie Lemay spent half her time in the film and media department, a new and rising program and focus at Abstergo University. After his first week alone in the room with Daniel, Desmond came to breathe a sigh of relief whenever he arrived to find the office locked and empty, knowing he would get at least few minutes of work done without the constant suffocating atmosphere of judgement and scorn. Asking Daniel questions was a good way to earn a deathly scowl, and usually was only answered with a snarky comment that did not answer anything, and instead left Desmond’s intelligence questioned.

At first, Desmond wondered if it was just a reaction to new people, and hoped that over time Daniel would be able to laugh at silly remarks or complain about life's inconveniences with Desmond like any of the other graduate students. He didn't hold that hope for long.

After his first few months working under Dr. Vidic, he finally got the courage to ask another student if he was always so abrasive. Lucy Stillman was another senior student working on her Ph.D, and unlike Daniel had been nothing but helpful and compassionate to Desmond’s questions. If there was any of the students who he trusted not to betray his potentially slanderous question, it was hee.

“Is he like this with everyone?”

She winced, clearly understanding what Desmond was referring to without him having to go into details. She nodded sympathetically. “At the very least, he has been since I started here. He's been here even before me.”

“Jesus, he must be loaded. Being an international student for that long would bankrupt me.”

“International student?” Lucy seemed puzzled.

“Yeah, where is he from anyways? Russia?”

“Desmond, he was born and raised in the U.S. Who told you he was an international student?”

“I… well, I just… he writes in some other language, I just assumed--”

“Well, don’t go around assuming too much, especially about his personal life. He doesn’t enjoy talking about that. Doesn’t even mention to most people that Dr. Vidic is his father.”

“ _What?_ ”

Lucy seemed unperturbed despite Desmond’s surprise. “I don’t recommend you ask him about that either, he doesn’t like people gossiping about him.”

“Is there anything he _does_ like?”

Lucy shrugged as she turned away, back down to her office. “Being left alone, I guess.”

* * *

Months passed before Desmond was even allowed in the animus research laboratory. Safety training and non-disclosure agreements aside, being taught how to properly use the machine seemed akin to learning the proper operating procedure of a spacecraft. So many variables that  could cause the machine to malfunction or shutdown -- of course, the majority of which to protect the user. Even hundreds of thousands of dollars in downtime or repair cost less than the injury or death of a human, in the long term.

There were only two animi on the campus-- one under the supervision of Dr. Vidic, the other under Dr. Aileen Bock. While the two “collaborated” on their work in genetic memory, so to speak, it was no secret between the students that Dr. Bock had poor opinion of Dr. Vidic, but the reason for it depended on who you asked. Some claimed jealousy of the success of Dr. Vidic’s work, and thus his higher budget allotment for research; by comparison Dr. Bock’s laboratory had only a quarter of the budget and even less in terms of students. Others pointed out that Dr. Vidic’s success was not likely all achieved in a totally legitimate manner, claiming manipulation of the bureaucracy involved in funding, as well as his push for the publishing of work regardless of its significance, relevance, or ethical standing. Some claimed he would “publish papers as if he was printing money”.

But Lucy reminded Desmond of the importance of keeping a good relationship with Dr. Bock, as often times getting research finished involved waiting in queue for sessions with the animus. If one was able to earn her favour, along with doing some extra work with her team, it wasn’t uncommon for her to allow some sessions with her animus when it was free. That was, of course, once Desmond actually knew what he would be researching-- as things were, all he could do was to learn as much about the field of genetic memory, and be ready once Dr. Vidic gave him the direction he should focus on.

> From: Warren Vidic <[ wvidic@uabstergo.edu ](mailto:wvidic@uabstergo.edu) >  
>  Sent: Monday, November 28, 2011 3:57 PM  
>  To: Desmond Miles < [ d7miles@uabstergo.edu ](mailto:d7miles@uabstergo.edu) >  
>  Subject: RE: Research Focus
> 
> _Desmond,_
> 
> _I think your research is going to closely relate to Daniel’s work. See if you can’t talk with him about how his research is progressing, and if you have any questions he should be your best source of information. I will be away from the office for the next few weeks for a conference in France, but we can discuss your progress once I return._
> 
> _Best of luck,_
> 
> _W.V._

Shit.

* * *

Lucy had no advice to give in terms of approaching Daniel, but at least point out that Desmond could probably read his Master’s thesis without having to actually interact with him at all. The university should have digital copies of every student’s completed thesis available on their online database.

Except, Desmond couldn’t find anything written by Daniel for the life of him.

Was Daniel Cross not his real name? “Daniel Vidic” did not yield any results, either, so that threw that idea out the window. An attempt at trying to spell out his name in cyrillic -- “Дэниел Кросс” -- yielded worldwide results, but none that he could translate as anything even close to relevant to genetic memory research. Was it possible that his research was considered sensitive enough to warrant hiding from public domain access? Or even from fellow researchers? If so, it could be impossible to find a digital copy without help from Dr. Vidic or Daniel himself.

So, how was he going to go about asking Daniel for his research notes? He had never tried emailing him, perhaps that would be a good route...

From his desk, he hazarded a glance over to Daniel’s monitor, trying to see if he could spy an open email client. A glance yielded neither confirmation nor denial, and so he repeated the process several times, while feigning interest in a poorly translated Russian paper about polio vaccines on his own computer. Of course, it was only a matter of time before Daniel would notice the spying-- when at last Desmond saw his glare slide over to him, their eyes locked for a brief moment, and he knew at once he was compromised. All he could do was drift his gaze upwards, as if he was looking away while searching for a thought or answer-- an obvious sham, but sometimes a bad lie was better than none at all, for above Daniel’s desk, hidden amongst the textbooks and electronic manuals, Desmond saw the plain dark blue, hard bound book. The spine read:

> _DANIEL CROSS                  M. SC.                  2008_

Desmond snapped his gaze back to his computer, an action that was clearly observed and disapproved of by Daniel.

“Do I have something of yours?” His voice was hollow and shaky, as if he was trying to remain composed despite his anger. Or at least, that was what it sounded like to Desmond; he heard him speak so infrequently he had no idea if that was his normal voice, or if he was just always angry.

“No, sorry-- just… thinking.” It wasn’t a total lie-- Desmond _was_ thinking. Primarily about how the hell he was going to manage to steal the thesis from under Daniel’s nose.

* * *

During the day, there was no telling when Daniel would leave his desk, and for how long he would be gone. Several times, Desmond found himself eyeing the book after Daniel stood up to leave, but found himself unnerved with the thought of him returning with his hand caught in the metaphorical cookie jar. What was only a few meters of distance seemed like it might as well have been in another country. To have to stand up, step over into the area around Daniel’s desk, pull the thesis out from the other thick texts that were piled atop it, and then somehow return to his desk and immediately hide the stolen goods from sight… it would take what, maybe thirty seconds at most? It should have been easy.

But even if he successfully pilfered the book, what was to say that Daniel wouldn’t immediately notice it missing? For all he knew, he could have some sort of hyper attention to detail, and would immediately notice something out of place at his desk. If that was the case, he could not risk taking it permanently-- no, he would just borrow it for a time, take pictures or make a copy of the text, at least get the introduction and thesis. That was all he needed, two or three photos, that would be enough to get him started.

Easy, right?

Desmond started to take notes of how long Daniel would leave his desk-- sometimes, he left for upwards of an hour, presumably for a session with the Animus, but to Desmond’s dismay he also made small trips too, not gone for more than a minute, presumably to visit the water fountain down the hall, or-- or maybe he knew, maybe he suspected that Desmond was trying to track his movements, and was purposefully throwing off his estimates for a window of opportunity. The more he thought about it, the more paranoid he got. How could he not notice how much attention he was paying to him, how Desmond would startle at his return, trying to appear busy whenever he stepped back into the doorway?

Halfway through his second day of observing Daniel’s behaviour, Desmond declared it a lost cause. There had to be a simpler solution-- if he stayed behind at the lab late enough, he could infiltrate their office undisturbed and take as many photos of the thesis as he wanted. So long as he wasn’t locked out of the building, it should be easy-- he had the key to unlock the office, after all. What did he risk but a scolding from security at lingering after hours? He would hardly be the first graduate student to stay behind after hours when working solo was forbidden. Not to mention the threat of a little academic punishment was far less intimidating than trying to have a conversation with Daniel Cross.

* * *

When at last his phone read 5:00 PM, Desmond began to pack his things, trying to reassure himself that he had a good plan. It would work-- after all, what could go wrong? At worst he would get caught and get a slap on the wrist for a first offense at trespassing-- and even then he could feign ignorance, not knowing that after-hours work was forbidden, claiming he just had some really important work to finish before leaving. He risked little and could finally have the documents he needed to understand what the hell research he was going to be doing.

It was not until he slung his bag across his shoulders that he realized that Daniel was still at his desk, working away.

Daniel _always_ worked later than Desmond-- he came in later too, usually not showing up at the office until 10 or 11 AM most mornings -- but Desmond realized he had no idea just how late he usually stayed. How long would he have to wait before returning to get the book? What if he worked until 9, or midnight, or even later?

“Hey, I’m… heading out.” Desmond paused at the door, trying to remember if he usually announced his departure before leaving.

“Later,” was all he was given as a reply. Daniel did not look away from his computer, which had the diagram of some genetic sequence displayed on one screen, and a illegible text document on the other.

_Shit._ He had to try to get a guess for how long he would be staying. “You-- uhm, you got any plans for tonight?”

If he was not so nervous about his plan falling apart, Desmond would have laughed at himself. _What the hell am I doing, asking him out?_

“Yeah, not making small talk with you.”

Desmond nodded, a bitter smile on his face. Yeah, that was about what he deserved. He pulled the door closed behind him before he could embarrass himself any further, or make himself look any more suspicious. It just meant he would have to be safe rather than sorry.

While not the most noble of hiding places, Desmond knew that few people would question someone spending extra time in a bathroom stall. And so it was that he barricaded himself inside the men’s bathroom down the hall from his office, ready to kill at least a few hours before he set himself free. He had his phone and headphones, so he assumed he would be able to pass the time quickly. Yet he found himself checking the time after every video he watched, somehow surprised that a ten minute video only passed the time by ten minutes.

Browsing social media was not much better, realizing that he had not planned accordingly for the fact that he was missing dinner only after seeing several posts of his friends sharing their meals, both restaurant- and home-made. Not that he would have particularly wanted to eat on the toilet, but as time continued to crawl his stomach seemed more open to the idea if he had thought of bringing some sort of snack, or at least eaten a larger lunch.

It was after 7:00 PM when Desmond heard the bathroom door open, and the sound of wheels on the laminate floor.

_Crap. Janitor._

How could he have not thought about that? Of course the custodians had to clean the building overnight when the staff and students were away. If he had thought over his plan for more than two minutes, he could have seen this coming-- but no, it was not the time to berate himself. Now he had to think fast as to what he could do to avoid detection. Maybe he could transfer himself from one stall to another after the custodian moved to clean the one he was in-- or maybe make a dash for it while they were cleaning the sinks--

He moved to pull his legs up from view beneath the stall, but apparently it was too late.

“Ah, very sorry-- I did not see you were here. I come back later.”

The voice was female, and thick with an accent that Desmond did not recognize, and honestly did not bother much to place, as he was more relieved that she did not inquire any further. Of course, he was overreacting-- the overnight staff had to use the bathroom too. It was fine. He was fine.

But of course now he could not stay in the stall for any much longer, else that _would_ be suspicious.

He checked his phone -- 7:26. That should be enough, right? Any reasonable person would have headed home already, been eating dinner, maybe some grilled fish with rice or a nice hearty soup with fresh bread like Shaun had posted…

A large growl from Desmond’s stomach convinced him yes, it was time to act. Get the pictures, and celebrate with takeout. It would be the perfect heist.

It felt wrong not to leave without washing his hands. He stepped back out into the hallway shaking his hands dry, looking down both directions for any sign of the custodian. Perhaps she went to go do the women’s bathroom first, which was on the opposite side of the building-- regardless, it was good news for him. No need to explain who he was to a very nice sounding janitor. Still, his keychain seemed to echo a little too loudly in the empty hallway-- if anyone were still around, surely they would hear his approach. How many staff worked over the night? Two? Twenty? What were the chances of him getting out of the building without being spotted?

He was relieved to see that indeed, his office was locked and the lights turned off. So Daniel left sometime between 5 PM and 7:26 PM-- Desmond made a mental note of that, but for what purpose he was not sure. He really hoped he would not have to make a habit of sneaking back into his own office after dark. For half a second he hesitated before turning the lights on, somehow again afraid that it would compromise him on his mission-- but then he remembered that he would not be able to see anything in the photos if the light was off. _Two minutes_ , he reminded himself, _all I need is two minutes, then I’ll be out of here._

He pulled down the hard-bound book, finally getting to see the title he had been searching for:

THE BLEEDING EFFECT:  
THE BENEFITS AND RISKS OF LONG TERM GENETIC MEMORY EXPLORATION AND EXPOSURE

 

BY DANIEL CROSS

 

A THESIS  
PRESENTED TO ABSTERGO UNIVERSITY  
IN THE FULFILLMENT OF THE  
THESIS REQUIREMENT FOR THE DEGREE OF  
MASTER OF SCIENCE IN  
GENETICS (GENETIC MEMORY)

2008

Desmond turned into a few pages, noting in the table of contents that the document was well over two hundred pages long. Was this a new phenomenon he and Dr. Vidic were exploring? If so, he was going to need a lot more than two or three photos to get the full picture. He couldn’t help but begin to read--

> From the earliest days of experimentation using Abstergo Industries (TM) patented Animus genetic memory-virtual reality liaison software-- and indeed, since the rise of virtual reality itself -- concerns about the physical and mental effects of long periods of exposure to such virtual realities. In particular, when exploring genetic memories, additional strain is placed on the cerebral functions of the user, as the brain is responsible both for the processing of the prior memories as external senses (including sight, sound, touch, and smell with the current existing Animus 1.68 technologies) as well as encoding the user’s own thoughts and memories. As a result, current protocol requires strict real-time monitoring of any animus use, including but not limited to: the monitoring of vital signs, such as heart rate and blood pressure; the monitoring of brain activity; external supervision for any involuntary or spontaneous body movements that could cause harm to either the user or those nearby; and of course, a rigid restriction of the amount of time permitted in an animus in one session (OSHA recommendation: no more than 2 hours) and during a given time span (OSHA recommendation: not to exceed 20 hours within a 30 day period).
> 
> However, without sufficient data on the onset of negative side effects and, if possible, the possible _benefits_ of long term animus exposure, such regulations serve only as restraints on the

“ _Какого черта ты делаешь_?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Vindart for helping me when I get stuck ;v;

Daniel’s voice was rugged and livid, and startled Desmond enough to make him drop the book onto the desk.

Why did he not just ask for the bloody thesis?

He turned around slowly, hands raised as if he was about to be arrested by a police officer and had to show he was not holding any sort of weapon. “Look, Daniel, I’m sorry I just--”

But when he turned around, he saw Daniel was not looking at him at all. His closed eyes pointed at the ground as one hand massaged his head, the other holding him upright in the doorway. His torso was bare of cloth or shirt, instead covered only by stray ECG electrodes still attached to his chest and ribs. For a moment the sight was so bizarre, Desmond could not connect the dots as to what was happening. Instead he could only stare in confusion at why he looked like he was just hooked up to a cardiogram, or what he was still doing at the laboratory, and why he appeared to be only semi-conscious. Was he doing late night sessions with the animus? Unsupervised that was dangerous, as you could easily end up spending hours in your memories without someone to kick you out, not to mention the long term exposure side effects--

Desmond’s stomach turned.

“You… you’re spending all night in the animus? Just to see what long term effects it has?”

All the literature, all the recommendations -- spending that much time in a genetic memory could cripple Daniel’s mental stability to the point of insanity. How often was he doing this? If it was every night-- god, no wonder they did not publish the paper publicly, if any health and safety organization knew, the University -- no, all of Abstergo Industries face huge lawsuits, the negative press, it would not be hard to imagine them being shut down altogether for such an egregious act of disregard for human safety.

Daniel mumbled more Russian, and finally seemed to have regained his composure enough to look up at Desmond, glaring-- but even glare seemed too gentle of a word to describe the violent thoughts betrayed by his eyes. For all the times Desmond was afraid of being around Daniel, never before had he been _physically_ afraid of him.

“Hey hey hey hey!” Desmond backed up into the wall behind him as Daniel stormed forwards, hands still raised in front of him in preparation for the inevitable assault. “It’s me, Desmond! Daniel, it’s me!”

Daniel slammed a fist into Desmond’s chest, pinning him against the wall. He spoke more angry Russian, something that sounded like a question. Or perhaps it was an accusation. Desmond struggled, trying to pry himself free, but resisting seemed to only cause the violent response to intensify.

“English!” He pleaded, wishing he could at least try to defend whatever he was being accused of before Daniel began to smash his head in. “English, Daniel, speak English!”

More Russian-- but Desmond heard a distinct _Daniel_ in the angry question this time.

“Yes, Daniel! You are Daniel!” If that was the only word he understood, maybe repeating it would get his message across.

“Daniel.” He repeated back, the anger in his eyes changing to confusion, then for a brief moment-- fear. He released Desmond, backing up and looking frantically around the office, as if he were suddenly surrounded by strangers he could not see. Soon he was looking around so rapidly, it devolved into a just a violent shaking of his head. Desmond could only watch as Daniel muttered incoherently to himself, now but a cowering shadow of the form he had just seen. It was hard to even think of him as Daniel, in truth-- shivering bare skinned and emotionally barren in the half-lit room. He lacked both the piercings on his ear, and the piercing scowl of his normal irritated expression. Was _this_ the real Daniel?

For so long, he had just thought of him as the aloof asshole, thinking he was above everyone else, who could not be bothered with people or things not in his direct interest. But Desmond realized now-- it looked as though Daniel was barely keeping himself together. The constant shitty attitude, the aggressive behaviour-- was it to push people away? To keep them from seeing the broken state he was in, how the animus had destroyed him?

How the hell was Desmond supposed to even begin helping someone this fucked up?

Daniel was kneeling on the ground now, hiding his head in his knees with his hands around his neck. Desmond kneeled down beside him, trying to decide if he could touch him without making things worse. “Daniel… can you hear me?”

His voice seemed to shatter whatever phantom had possessed Daniel with fear, for his shivering subsided. He lifted his head up slightly as he spoke. “I'm not fucking deaf.”

If Desmond were standing, he would have had the sense to back up after hearing the anger return to Daniel's voice. Perhaps that could have avoided what followed. “Are, um, you okay--”

“What sort of fucking question is that?” He locked his gaze with Desmond now, jaw clenching into a scowl. “Don’t look at me like that. I know that look. _Pity_. You fucking pity me, don’t you?”

Desmond did not know how to reply without pissing off Daniel further. Unfortunately, his silence seemed to work just as well at doing that.

“Fuck you and your pity.”

He didn't have time to defend himself before Daniel pushed him over, climbing atop him, pinning him down to the floor with a hand on his chest.

“What are you thinking, huh? Wondering what a sad fucking life I must have? Wondering what it's like to live half your life inside of a goddamn machine? What it's like to not be able to tell your own memories from someone else's? To forget who you are?” He leaned in closer, to where Desmond could feel the humidity from his breath on the skin by his ear. “Go on, tell me. Tell me how sorry you feel for me. Tell me how miserable I look. Cry for me.”

Daniel's voice, raspy with anger, made Desmond’s skin begin to prickle with goosebumps. He tried to speak, but found himself choking on a hard lump in his throat.

“No? Don't have anything to say now? No more stupid fucking comments?”

“Really, I didn't mean to—”

“That sounds like a stupid fucking comment.”

He hadn't even noticed that Daniel's free hand was unfastening his pants until he heard his zipper and felt the cold air through his boxers, a shock of relief for the heat that was growing there. He nearly jumped out of his skin as Daniel stroked his bulge. “What the _fuck--_ what are you doing?!”

Daniel slapped him across the face with the back of his hand. It was not hard enough to draw blood in his mouth, but it was enough to stun Desmond into silence. “Are you going to make this hard for yourself, or will you just shut up and let me fuck you?”

Desmond now understood what the expression in his eyes was that he couldn't describe earlier— a vengeful, unbridled lust.

He _really_ should have just fucking asked for that thesis.

Desmond tried to move Daniel's hand away from his crotch, but his attempts were swatted away-- Daniel had both hands free now, keeping Desmond pinned in place by sitting on his legs. He could not prevent him from tugging his cock free from his boxers, nor could he prevent the erection that began to grow from the new touch.

“I'm going to make you _beg_ ,” Daniel worked on pulling Desmond’s pants and boxers down, fully exposing cheeks, cock, and balls to the air. He leaned in to Desmond’s ear, growling from his throat. “You are going to cry and beg for me to fuck you up your ass.”

Desmond wanted to deny that he would do any such thing, but when he opened his mouth to protest, Daniel took his cock into his hand, and instead the only noise he could make was a  breathy moan. He wanted to say that the swelling feeling growing in his chest was fear, or sickness, or anger, but that would be a lie. Damn it, damn it, _damn it_ , why was he getting turned on?

Already his protest was growing into but a feeble show, grasping white-knuckled at the fabric of his own shirt instead of trying to stop Daniel from playing with his cock. His waist was moving on its own accord, pushing against Daniel's hand, rising and writhing into what little friction he was given. It felt… good. There was no doubt about that. But even as his body gave way until was seemed to just be a free hand job, he could not help but begin to think of what was to come afterwards.

Was Daniel going to flip him onto his stomach, press him into the floor, and mount him like he was some sort of bitch in heat? Or would he just lift him up as he was right now, chests pressed together as he lifted his ass up to be properly penetrated by his—

Fuck, how big was it?

God help him, he was thinking about how big his dick was. He could see the outline of it under Daniel's jeans, stiff and pointing right at him, as if it knew where Daniel planned to put it. He had played around with things in his ass before while masturbating, but a hot, throbbing dick…

“What's this?” Daniel chuckled— a deep, mocking chuckle, one that made Desmond bow his head to avoid the judgmental stare he knew accompanied it. “Is this what you were looking at, then? I saw you, trying to steal looks at me when you thought I wasn't looking.”

 _No, no, no_ , Desmond shook his head, still looking down at his own chest, not wanting to meet Daniel's gaze. But a different word was on his parted, panting lips.

“You really thought I didn't notice? You, who barely notices anything around you— you never once saw how much you teased me? How you'd lick your lips and crane your stupid neck to one side, as if you were just begging me to bite it…”

Daniel traced a finger along Desmond’s collarbone as he spoke, scratching a nail into the skin to accentuate the word _bite_ , still stroking his shaft with the other hand. God, yes, Desmond wanted him to bite him.

“Or how about how you would sit with your legs tucked underneath you, like you were trying to show off your flexibility to me, let me know that I could throw one of those legs over my shoulder and fuck you standing if I wanted to…”

Desmond lifted his head, watching his cock get stroked and pumped, Daniel's thumb now rolling over the head and giving him a long, hard tug. Desmond’s breath was faltering, quickening, _fucking God—_ Daniel gave a better hand job than any girl he had ever been with. Probably because he had his own cock to practice on, lying in bed, naked under twisted sheets, head thrown back, hand around his own shaft… Fuck, Desmond was picturing his own bed. Daniel Cross jerking himself off in his bed. God help him, how was he going to get that image out of his head the next time he masturbated…

He was not looking at his own cock anymore. He stared again at the still-sheathed erection that was staring him down, mocking him, a symbol of what was about to come. Or, rather, _who._

“Your eyes betray you, Desmond.” Daniel's voice was barely a whisper. He let go of Desmond’s dick-- fuck, now he wanted to finish himself, his cock was too hard to leave alone now.

But instead he could only watch, horny and needy, as Daniel unbuttoned the top of his jeans.

“Is _this_ what you want?”

The sound of his fly unzipping made Desmond’s erection twitch.

“Go on then.” He pulled down his pants and used the opportunity to re-position himself forwards, straddling atop Desmond’s chest now. When at last he let his throbbing cock spring out from beneath the damp cloth of his underwear, it was threatening to touch Desmond’s nose. And Jesus, it was somehow larger than he had imagined.

Despite himself, Desmond licked his lips.

“ _Suck it._ ”

The order should have prompted many different thoughts, yet Desmond’s stomach reminded him with a needy growl that think he still had not had any dinner. Yes, that was why he was salivating, why he opened his mouth as ordered… why he was so eager to take Daniel's cock into his mouth.

He reached out to pull it toward him, to close the distance between erection and lips, but Daniel grabbed his arms and pinned them to the ground. “No. Only your mouth.”

Desmond tried, but even stretching his neck to its fullest he could not reach. He must have looked like some sort of confused bird as he tried, bobbing his head out again and again, his own cock straining in need of attention he could not give it.

“That wasn't a suggestion you idiot. _Suck it._ ”

Did he want him to admit that he couldn't do it? Did he want him to beg for it? Desmond scowled at the thought now, straining against the arms that held him down. He felt the burn in his abdomen as he pulled himself upwards, closer, closer-- finally able to lap his tongue at the tip, tasting the salty precome that decorated it -- even closer still -- now he could fit his lips around the head too, he could begin to suck out more flavour, god it only made him hungrier--

Desmond assumed that would be as far as he could get, given how he was already struggling to hold the crunched position, but it seemed that was not going to be enough for Daniel. He held no reservations into shoving himself entirely into Desmond’s mouth, lunging his hips forward, pulling him closer by the back of his head. It was too much at once-- Desmond began to cough and gag, unsure of how deep in his mouth the dick had gone besides the obvious _too far_. He tried to pull away instinctively, desperate to not die choking on another man’s penis, but Daniel held him firmly in place, setting the pace himself as he rocked out and inside of Desmond’s mouth.

Desmond drooled around his cock, eyes rolling back into his head-- the desire to escape died slowly the longer he tasted the flesh on his tongue, the more accustomed he became to the rhythm. He began to suck noisily, both with the sound of lips and saliva pleasuring the throbbing skin, as well as his own panting and grunts of effort. Daniel was keeping none too quiet either -- his breathy murmurs of approval were somehow all the more arousing when Desmond saw the rugged face that was making the noises-- the same scruffy bearded fuck who would not so much as give him the time of day for the last eight months. It seemed all it took to get Daniel to like him was to suck his dick.

“A-Ah, fuuuck… at least your… ngghhh… stupid fucking mouth… is good for… s-something.”

Okay, maybe not quite. Still, it was more words than Daniel had said to him since they had first met. He tightened his lips and rolled his tongue across the head of his dick, playing with the slit, watching how Daniel seemed to tense at the extra pressure, closing his eyes and biting down on his lip. His hands now free, Desmond reached around to grasp at the firm ass cheeks that sat on his chest, bracing himself against Daniel's violent thrusts.

At last Daniel gave some slack in his arms, allowing Desmond to lean his head back and remove the erection from his mouth entirely. It was a welcome relief, allowing himself a few moments to gasp for air, staring at the saliva that still trailed between mouth and cock. Not yet ready to take him into his mouth again, instead he used his proximity to suck gently at the base of Daniel's shaft, chin tickling at his balls. His cock twitched excitedly at the kiss, but it seemed as though Daniel himself was less pleased.

“Did I say to kiss me like some fucking whore?” He pulled his face away, back to the head of his erection, squeezing his cheeks together to open his mouth. “Keep sucking.”

Desmond parted his lips, ready to obey, but he still had not caught his breath from the previous assault. “I… I’m… I can't…”

Daniel scoffed, shoving Desmond’s face away. “Pathetic.”

For a moment, Desmond thought that it was over. Daniel moved off his chest and turned as if to walk away, right out the door. Partly relieved and partly disappointed, Desmond stood up too, moving to stuff his erection back into his pants-- when instead of leaving through the door, Daniel closed it.

“No. Take them off.”

Again, the angry, dominating tone with which Daniel gave the order made Desmond move automatically to obey, like some dog doing tricks on command. But automatically some defiant part of himself replied without thinking— “Take them off yourself.”

For a second, Daniel almost looked confused. A wry grin crawled onto his face, nodding in approval. “Well then, suit yourself.”

How long had Daniel been holding a pocket knife?

The metal blade caught the light overhead as Daniel flicked it open, almost taunting him as he walked towards him slowly, forcing Desmond again to back into the wall with nowhere to escape.

“Have you ever been fucked by a man before?” He asked teasingly, as it was no doubt he suspected the answer. He pointed the blade at Desmond’s stomach, poking him gently through his shirt, laughing at how he recoiled in fear. “Or am I going to be the first one to plow into your pretty little ass?”

His voice was thick with lust, drawing his face closer and closer to Desmond with each word. His erection still spilled over his pants and was grinding just below where the knife punctured the fabric of the shirt.

“Your stupid fucking mouth could barely handle my cock, I wonder how much of it you'll be able to take up your tight ass…”

He drew the blade upward, tearing the shirt along the way, exposing Desmond’s chest and stomach. It nicked the skin of his collarbone as it finished its job, earning a bead of blood on its blade as a reward. Daniel brought it to his lips, licking it clean, never looking away from Desmond. He didn't stop there, either - - he helped himself to lick the trail of blood that had begun to drop down Desmond’s chest as well, tracing his tongue up the skin. When his mouth reached the wound, he gave it a kiss.

Or at least, it started as a kiss.

He began to suckle on the skin too, as if trying to tease out more blood to taste, tongue lapping at the opened skin. Desmond felt his knees go weak, moaning at the stimulation of the raw nerves. He worked up the energy to thread his fingers into Daniel's hair, partially expecting to be swatted away again. Instead, Daniel mimicked the motion, at last leaving the wound alone to instead pull Desmond’s mouth into his own. He could still taste the metallic twinge of blood on his tongue as it parted his lips. He wondered if Daniel could taste his own cock, too.

Daniel pressed their bodies together into the wall, his cock sandwiched and grinding in between their stomachs. Envious of what must have been an amazing amount of friction, Desmond reached to pull his out again too. Together, the two cocks grinding against each other, against their abdomens, were quickly growing wet with sweat, among other things.

Daniel parted from the kiss violently, throwing Desmond’s head back against the wall by his hair.

“Move an inch and I'll cut your fucking balls off.”

He got onto his knees, and for a thrilling moment Desmond thought he was going to suck on _his_ dick now. Instead, his erection flinched in fear as he pulled out the knife again, this time now ripping away the denim around his crotch. The blade poked at his balls as he did the same to his boxers, causing Desmond to make a small noise of fear, realizing that Daniel might just be fucking crazy enough to actually cut them off. The scraps of fabric fell to his feet piece by piece as Daniel tore and ripped, until Desmond was completely naked from the waist down. Daniel squeezed his ass and used it to pull himself back upright, chuckling to himself.

“I want to shove my dick into you right now,” he purred into Desmond’s ear. “But you are so tight it would be a miracle to get inside of you without ripping you into a bloody mess.”

He pressed his hips harder against Desmond, pushing their their dicks together even more.

“So if you don't want to be left here tonight in a pool of your own blood,” he inserted two fingers into Desmond’s mouth, “ _Suck_.”

This time, endurance was not an issue, so Desmond was free to suck on Daniel's fingertips with full energy and eagerness. They too tasted like the salt of precome-- his own, this time -- but were rougher and more calloused than the skin of his cock. They did not seem to lack sensitivity though, as Daniel gave quiet moans and sighs of pleasure as his fingers were thoroughly lubricated.

“What an obedient little whore you are, sucking when told. Mhm… you enjoy the taste of me inside of you, don't you?” Daniel was stroking at his own cock with his free hand, short, quick strokes, for it was all he could managed in the small gap they had between them. Desmond thought of doing the same thing for himself, but hearing praise— fucking _praise_ from Daniel Cross— prompted him instead to join him in stroking the cock that would soon be fucking him. That earned him more breathy praise. “Fuck… good… is this what you do when you touch yourself at night? How do you play with that cute little cock of yours? Next time— God… Yeah… like that—  think of _me_ , the feeling of me fucking your ass… “

When at last he was satisfied with the lubrication on his fingers— or perhaps, impatience and fear of coming just from a hand job — he pulled them from Desmond’s lips, eyes wide with a hungry glint.

“Now you can get a _real_ taste of me inside you.”

He lifted Desmond up by the waist, spinning him over to drop him bare-assed onto his own desk, knocking over books, papers, and thesis alike to the ground. With one hand, he lifted one of Desmond’s legs up, pulling his heel over his shoulder to expose the eager asshole for his other hand, which wasted no time in inserting the two saliva covered fingers inside.

Desmond cried out so loudly at first, he did not even realize that the horny moan was his own.

Daniel only had the chance to fuck him a few times with his fingers, sliding his hand back and forth, in and out, before they both froze in terror at the sound of a distant voice crying out, somewhere else in the building.

“What the _hell_ was that?!”


End file.
